By Sara Woznicki
I used to shrug when people asked if I was a feminist. Sure, we deserve equal rights. But I’m not in the mood to go on and on about it. High school me thought feminists were the ones on man hunts. Burning bras. Smoking cigs to show we can. Nothing that struck home with me.
Then college happened. We’re not getting paid equally. When we’re tough, it’s because we’re a bitch or PMSing, but when a man is, he’s a bo$$. That glass ceiling is staring us all in the face, remindng us of our terminal position looming barely one step ahead. We can’t take our birth control in public without people getting offended. If we need something done, we either assume the bitch role, or need bat our eye lashes like we’re helpless.
But what’s annoyed me most lately was the question,
“Who’s taking care of you?”
Maybe in context it’ll make more sense.
I needed to get a chunk from the roof of my mouth chopped off and sewn into the bottom of my gums. It wasn’t fun.
After the procedure, I drove myself home, put on a chick flick, drank some water, let some water drool right out the other side of my mouth and ate some pudding. I even microwaved a banana so I could gum it better. (And no, I wouldn’t suggest microwaved bananas).
I didn’t love the day, as my face was numb for most of it from the novocaine, and I kept drooling like a little baby. However, it wasn’t terrible either. I had lots of alone time that I never get, and comparatively speaking, it hurt way less than the mirror falling on my leg or getting my wisdom teeth out.
Before and after the survey, people asked me, “Who’s taking care of you,” or “Who took care of you?”
Nope, even in context the question is still largely condescending.
Me? I did? Are we shocked that was able to drive myself to a procedure, then home AND survive for one entire day without the supervision of someone?
“Why didn’t you get someone to come help you?”
Do I really need a person to come watch me drool for an entire day? I did get a supervisor for my wisdom teeth extraction, only because it was medically advised AND I wasn’t allowed to drive. There is no other reason I’d want someone sitting there with me as I ice my face on and off for an entire day while drooling on myself. I don’t need witnesses to that horror.
Okay, so maybe you think I’m fretting over something that isn’t actually sexist, but when men get procedures done, I don’t hear the first thing people asking them is who helped them along the way.
Betch — I helped myself out along the way.
Well, and my roommate and sister who cooberated to get me flowers. And Cazey for bringing me (low cal!) ice cream so as to not spoil my diet. Getting help from people along the way is great, but why is it assumed that I couldn’t have gone through this independently? I’m a big girl now, and I can handle my own shit, thank you very much.